


like idiots

by rivieraviews



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Camping, Alternate Universe - High School, Banter, Because They're The Light Roughhousing Type, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Let's Ignore The Dumpster Fire That Was Infinity War: The Fic, Light Roughhousing, M/M, No proofreading we die like mne, lots of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivieraviews/pseuds/rivieraviews
Summary: "Man, just get in here. I'm tired, and I need to sleep," Sam groaned. "You are never going to put that damn thing up. Give up."or: ‘our class went on a ‘survival skill learning’ camping trip and left a group of students out in the middle of nowhere and oh my god it’s three AM and I’m trying to sleep but you’re over here cursing at the wind for knocking your tent over again jUST SLEEP IN HERE WITH ME BRO’





	like idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on [this tumblr prompt](http://ahkmen-rah.tumblr.com/post/115999538911/just-some-how-they-met-aus-i-want-to-see):
>
>> ‘our class went on a ‘survival skill learning’ camping trip and left a group of students out in the middle of nowhere and oh my god it’s three AM and I’m trying to sleep but you’re over here cursing at the wind for knocking your tent over again jUST SLEEP IN HERE WITH ME BRO’
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Title from "you told the drunks i knew karate" - zoey van goey, which is so sambucky I could cry.
> 
> Constructive crit always welcome.

Sam had known this stupid trip was a bad idea. He'd known, and he'd told his parents. But had they listened? No. Mandatory survival skill learning, they'd said. Everyone in his class was going, they'd said. _Survival skill learning my ass,_ Sam had thought then and still thought now.

Mr. Fury and Mrs. Hill had paired them off with strangers and dumped them in the middle of nowhere with some food and supplies and informed them that they were not to move because they would be picked up at the same locations the next afternoon. That had been it. That had been all. Truly, Sam was dumbfounded. This was probably a violation of some student safety law, if not multiple—he was sure of it. He knew Steve would love to get a piece of it too, could probably make the front page of the school paper with a story like that. And if Peggy caught wind? There would be hell to pay.

Sam had been paired with a male classmate he only vaguely remembered from Homeroom, a quiet kid with stringy brown hair he usually let hide his face, but sometimes tied in a small ponytail at the back of his head. The name was on the tip of his tongue. Something funny—he'd joked about it before, with Natasha, maybe. He wasn't sure.

All he was sure of was that this dude was damn annoying and incompetent to boot. They'd been given booklets with instructions on how to assemble their tents, and yet it had been almost two hours since their drop-off and this guy was still fiddling with his. Did he not know how to read or something? He probably wouldn’t care as much about what he was doing out there if it didn't disturb his beauty sleep. Dude was loud as _fuck_. Sam sighed and leaned out of his tent, holding the flap in place. He was going to have to invite the guy in, as much as he didn't want to.

"Man, just get in here. I'm tired, and I need to sleep," Sam groaned. "You are never going to put that damn thing up. Give up."

The response he got was an annoyed one. "Yeah, well maybe if somebody helped me, I'd actually get something done. Boy do I wish I had… gee, I dunno. A partner to help me out? Wouldn't that be grand? Not like that's the reason we got paired up or anything."

"Listen, I got my tent up alone and I'm not getting out for anybody or anything. I fucking hate the wilderness. This camping shit is not for me," Sam grumbled.

The other boy had his back to Sam. For a few seconds there was only the quiet to listen to. He looked around. They were in the middle of a clearing, and the sky above them glistened with stars. He could hear the other boy breathing hard, in and out, in and out. _Weighing his options_ , Sam guessed, though he couldn’t for the life of him understand why this dumbass thought he had options. It was either get in the tent, or lie in the cold, hard dirt for the rest of the night. It was October, and when Sam exhaled, he could see his breath condense in front of him. It would be a long night for anyone without a tent.

Finally, the other boy let out a deep sigh. To Sam it seemed punctual—he had made a decision. "You sure you got room in there?"

"Uh, yeah. Just get in here first and we'll see what we're lookin' like."

The tent was so small Sam's shins stuck out from the curtains when he lied down, but he was determined to make it work. That fool wouldn't be able to put a tent together if his life depended on it—the proof was in the pudding, after all.

The other boy entered the tent head-first, poking his full head of hair through and looking around before committing fully and pulling the rest of his body through the flap. He was taller than Sam, and they quickly realized that knee-down, his body would have to rest outside the tent. Sam shifted a little, and then shrugged. The other boy's mouth twitched, but Sam couldn't tell if he was trying to hide a smile or sneering in annoyance.

The air inside the tent quickly became stifling. It was clearly not meant for two people, especially for two adolescent boys. Even after taking their heavy winter coats off, the air felt hot and recycled, unlike the fresh, crisp air of outside. It was almost suffocating—no, it was definitely suffocating. Their legs were pressed against each other so as to exit through the flap, and it was clear the other boy was uncomfortable with this bodily contact, even though it was through layers of clothes—his head and neck were bent at an unnatural angle away from Sam. Although he was a little offended, Sam couldn’t blame him, he didn't like the way it was either. He thought he would try to make conversation, maybe crack a few jokes, to cut through the tension a little. It was his specialty.

"So," he started, turning to the other boy in the tent, "What's your name, anyway? I'm Sam."

"Bucky."

Sam snorted. Now he was _sure_ he had made a joke or two at the expense of this guy's name. "Your parents musta hated you, huh."

"It's just a nickname. My real name's James Buchanan Barnes. A mouthful, I know. Which is why I usually go with the shortened version," Bucky sighed, giving Sam a knowing look.

"The only bachelor president? Did your mom feel the gay energy in the womb or something?"

Bucky didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in towards Sam's face, and for a split second, Sam had thought he was going to kiss him. His palms had clammed up with the thought, even. But then he heard a pop, like a suction, and Bucky's face moved away from his own.

"What the fuck was that?" He asked, confused.

Bucky feigned innocence. And then he _pulled his fucking left arm out of his shirt sleeve_. "It's my prosthetic arm, duh."

Sam gave him a side-eye. "You know, you could have taken that thing off outside the tent, then come in without it. We're already tight fit, space-wise."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be able to fuck with you," Bucky grinned, showing a row of straight, white teeth. _That motherfucker_ , Sam thought, they were probably naturally straight, too. Sam had had to get braces in junior high. When Sam shoved him in the chest, hard enough for him to fall on his back, the prosthetic fell from Bucky's hand and to the ground between them. Bucky nudged it to the side and moved closer to Sam, almost straddling him.

They were so close that they were practically breathing the same air. Bucky's breath was hot on Sam's cheek, and Sam wanted badly to make a quip, make a joke, to say anything about Bucky's breath—how it stank (it didn't), how it was gross (it wasn't), but he was frozen. All he could do was stare back into Bucky's wide eyes.

When one of them finally spoke, (it could have been hours—Sam wasn't sure—but maybe it hadn't been), it was Bucky, and his voice was croaky. "You gonna let me kiss you?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed, voice weak. _Fucking cornball_ , he thought, but his chest was warm, and he was filled with an inexplicable feeling of contentedness. It was adrenaline. It was lust. He felt everything.

Bucky leaned in, his right forearm a heavy weight on Sam's chest, and pressed his lips to Sam's. At first the kiss was dry, not much more than chapped lips to chapped lips, but its intensity grew. Soon it was wet and warm, and Bucky was slipping his tongue into Sam's mouth. Their tongues intertwined, pressing against each other, both rough and soft, the texture of it sending a small chill down Sam's back. He felt electric, almost. There was a current running through him.

Bucky was thumbing his chin, and Sam could feel his mouth smiling against his own—their lips had not yet parted. When they finally did, Sam noticed Bucky's lips were noticeably redder than they had been before. Fuller, too. Almost like they were bruised. He felt his cheeks reddening at the realization that _he_ had done that.

They were both quiet as they gathered their thoughts, separating their limbs from each other and fixing their clothes, though truth be told there wasn't much to fix—their romp had been tame, if it were to even be considered a romp.

"I guess I could've helped you with the tent, being that you have one arm and all," Sam smiled weakly, shy for the first time.

It was Bucky's turn to snort. "I ought to smack you upside the head with this ugly thing," he said, lifting his prosthetic and pretending he was going to chuck it Sam's way.

"You better take your ass to sleep," Sam threatened, playfully.

 


End file.
